


until this blood runs cold

by soldouthaz



Series: love bites [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Coming Untouched, Frottage, M/M, Vampire Harry, implied bottom Louis, implied top Harry, please check the notes for other warnings!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. When something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown.So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: love bites [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885459
Comments: 65
Kudos: 447





	until this blood runs cold

**Author's Note:**

> EXTRA TAGS / WARNINGS! 
> 
> \--
> 
> louis and harry work at a morgue -- louis is a mortuary assistant and harry is a coroner. there are NO GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS but there are a few mentions of bodies and of death in general. if this is something that might trigger you in any way please be conscious of this and make the right decision for yourself. if you are unsure, feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr or twitter (@soldouthaz) and I will answer any questions you may have :) 
> 
> \--
> 
> i want to say a quick thank you to everyone for bearing with me right now -- i’m currently doing college full time as well as beginning to work two jobs again, on top of trying to finish my blff’s! i promise i have longer fics in the works that won’t be just drabbles and pwp’s, it’s just taking me a bit longer to get motivated and stay afloat at the moment (but all of your lovely comments and feedback are incredibly motivating as usual!) 
> 
> and, as always, a big huge gigantic thank you to ris ([falsegoodnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsegoodnight/pseuds/falsegoodnight) ) for beta-ing for me and for having this wonderful idea to do this collection together in the first place. we hope you enjoy! :)

In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. It’s that season right now as well, sweat dripping off of the back of Louis’ neck as he tidies the big, empty house. Every fan he’s got is on full speed, his air conditioning spotty since he moved in over ten years ago now. 

He stops in the middle of the living room to wipe at his face, the heat thickening so much that he can’t seem to catch his breath. Louis figures it's far past due time for a break. Setting the broom up next to the front door for later, he ventures into the kitchen to get some much needed water. 

The thorough shower he’d taken this morning leaves no trace of cleanliness, his skin clammy and sticky when he picks up the icy glass to bring to his lips. He cradles it between his palms and moves to stand next to the front window. 

From this angle he can see down the perpetually long street where his neighbors are milling about, one of them tending to her yard, another lounging on his patio in a rocking chair. Louis checks his watch. _5:02_ . Right on time, just like he is everyday. The man stands from his chair and finishes the rest of his drink, yells a hearty _good afternoon_ to the woman and then goes back inside for his dinner. Right on cue on the other side of the street, someone’s granddaughter drops off dinner to her grandmother, and a dog runs loose from its leash until it’s caught once again by the teenager that tries to walk them each afternoon. It all couldn’t be any more predictable. 

Living in such a small town has both its perks and downfalls - Louis once loved feeling so close to his neighbors and the people that frequented the bar where he worked when he was younger, but slowly he’d watched as they all became gossip obsessed and more interested in judging others than actually having intellectual conversation. It’s familiar, but it’s grown to be quite boring. No matter how much he aches for something new, for something _exciting_ , it always just seems like groundhog day over and over and over again. 

Even the unexpectedness of birds flying overhead or a butterfly on his window sill would seem like peak entertainment, fluttering its wings until it decided that it too, was bored and flew away to somewhere else. Louis wishes he could do that sometimes. 

But he knows that he can’t let it get to him. He’s settled here now, in this small, boring town, and going insane wouldn’t do him any good. Then the carefully crafted subtleness of his existence would be flipped on its head, his name suddenly on all of the lips of the gossipers instead of tucked away behind his thick, predictable curtains like usual. 

His point is that when something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown. 

So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss. 

+

Vampires, reluctantly, have always been somewhat of a fixation for Louis. He’s known of their existence his entire life but he seldom comes in contact with one, only rarely when they pass through town or when he runs into one of them on his monthly trips to the city for the groceries he can’t get from the local store. 

This particular one is his only neighbor that he can’t seem to pinpoint. Louis gets up extra early to check the driveway but the car is already gone. Then he tries to stay up late to see him coming home but always inevitably ends up falling asleep and missing that, too. Only once has he caught a glimpse of the man, just one second of his sharp eyes and long limbs and curly hair through his car window before he’d sped off down the street. Louis, who’d been unloading groceries from his car, hadn’t moved for a full five minutes afterward as if his feet had been glued to the pavement. 

With all the build up in his head, he wonders what it’s going to be like when he actually has to go into work and _talk_ to the man. He knows he’s got the right man because of the letter he’d received in the mail warning him of the shift in management, his address listed there in case of emergencies. Louis’d known he would be working for someone new but he’d just presumed them to be _human_. He’s got to get a hold of himself. 

It’s just that vampires are so _elusive_ . They’re mysterious and layered and they have a _history_ behind all of their cold eyes and colder skin. Because of their immortality they tend to just float. They travel the world and set their own schedules and don’t spare much of a thought for anyone else, especially during the last few centuries since blood can be bought and sold and there’s no longer any need for unnecessary violence or scare tactics to get a means of survival. 

Louis aches for that kind of life. Money wouldn’t even be an issue since blood is cheap these days (he’d done some interesting research for his old manager at the bar), but he’s got his savings anyway. He could see the world, not have to worry about his time running out or being alone for the rest of his life. 

Louis doesn’t even think he would _mind_ being alone if he was able to see everything the world has to offer him, if he didn’t feel so stifled here. 

But the dream board he’d hung up when he first moved in has only been collecting dust, the pictures he’d cut out of a magazine curling at the edges just as his own aspirations curled in on themselves. Before he knew it he’d given up on them completely, and the board fell down altogether when a strong storm shook the outside wall. He’d never bothered to hang it back up. 

When he passes by that room it taunts him. It’s just one big reminder that he was never supposed to stay here more than a few years at most, just until he saved up enough money to be able to travel. 

Now he wakes up every morning and does the same exact things, sees the same people, thinks the same thoughts. It’s monotonous at best and infuriatingly stifling at worst, and it’s peaceful in all of the wrong ways. He doesn’t have anything here worth staying for but he can’t seem to leave. 

One of these days, he used to promise himself. One day he would get up and do something with his life. 

But many, many days have passed now, and Louis still sits alone by his window sill, counting the seconds in between when the dog barks and when the zip of a lawn mower turns on, so empty that he can’t tell if he’s awake or if he’s been asleep for years. 

+

Louis is aware that his job isn’t the most glamorous. Death, in general, isn’t something that most people feel comfortable broaching the subject of, let alone handling funerals and burials and bodies. It’s a bleak position but Louis does it well, and it’s added a lot to his savings over the years. 

After the bar shut down, the morgue had been the last open job in the entire town. When he learned that not much education was even required, he’d applied immediately. It’d been admittedly odd at first but he’s had years to come to terms with the morbidity of it all, to desensitize himself from the duties of the job. 

His part isn’t even all that fascinating, anyway. As a mortuary assistant Louis only makes sure that the body is ready to be seen by the coroner, and then he sets out the necessary supplies for them to get to work. 

The last coroner just recently retired and moved back home to live near his daughter and new grandchildren, so Louis and the rest of the few staff members were left searching for someone to take his place. 

Harry Styles picked up the job less than 24 hours after they’d posted the listing, located in the tiny town far outside of even the suburbs and the city. Louis tries not to think too hard about the fact that he’d have to have been actively looking for that specific job in order to see it so quickly. 

He’s going to have to work closely with him after all, since usually it’s just him and the coroner in the office, and he’s going to have to get over his weird fascination with what the man _is_. Still, he can’t help but note the irony of a vampire working at a morgue. 

It draws Louis’ interest from the moment he found out, and for the first time in years he’s somewhat excited when he gets ready to go in for his shift. The alarm goes off at the same time and Louis hits the button like he always does, slipping out from underneath the covers and heading to brush his teeth. He’d put on the exact same clothes and styled his hair the same way and eaten the same breakfast, but something about today tells him it’s going to be different. 

_Different_ , Louis decides for himself, nodding at his reflection in the mirror. He leaves the same house and locks the door with the same key, driving the same car on the same road to work. 

_Different, different, different_ , he repeats, parking in the same spot out front of the building. Something’s going to have to change. 

+

Harry Styles doesn’t seem all that spectacular. He’s already in his office when Louis scans his key card, dressed in the clinical uniform of a small town coroner. He already _fits_ , and something about it feels too comfortable for Louis’ liking. 

But he brushes the feeling off and attends the very small meeting in the break room, only him and the woman who answers their phone at the desk near the front, and the janitor that comes after hours. Harry makes a point of introducing himself to everyone and answering any questions, but they’re all really too stunned to ask anything. 

By the time a few days have passed, Louis simultaneously knows everything and nothing about him. He picks up on small tics he has like the way he moves and how he walks, the shape of his mouth when he’s focusing on something. But what does any of that really tell him about Harry himself? It isn’t much. They haven’t had a job since he first arrived though, so Louis hasn’t had a chance to have him alone just yet. 

What gets to him the most so far is that Harry seems _normal_. He and Louis live on the same street, work the same hours, eat lunch together in the same break room and make the same small talk. It’s all oddly comforting until Louis remembers that it isn’t fair. 

They may do the same things but they are not the same, and Louis refuses to be fooled. Whereas he is sitting here with limited time, Harry has a thousand chances to get things right. He’s allowed as many mistakes as he needs. Louis’ sure that Harry’s seen nearly every city around the world just from the way he speaks and interacts, every secluded corner and hidden treasure that Louis longs to see himself. If he messes up, he can just move and start over. Louis doesn’t have that privilege. 

That makes him angry sometimes, if he’s honest. He sits there in the break room and watches Harry come in with his lunch, sit at the next table over and give him a small smile. Some days, Louis smiles back. Others, he grips his spoon so hard that it nearly breaks in half, swallowing down chocolate pudding aggressively until his jaw hurts. 

Just because they do the same things doesn’t mean they’re equals, and it’s becoming frustratingly apparent in everything Harry does lately. It’s only been a few days but already Louis can feel it bubbling in his tummy, the bitter aftertaste of jealousy. 

And, while he’s thinking about it, why would he be working in a morgue anyway? Surely he’s got higher standards than this - he could be anything he wanted and he chose _this_. Why would someone with so many opportunities for excitement choose something so mundane? It just doesn’t make any sense. 

He watches as Harry stands and tosses the rest of his trash from lunch into the bin, slipping a few coins into the vending machine to get a can of coke to take back to his desk. As if sensing Louis’ gaze he glances over his shoulder and makes direct eye contact, raising a brow as a smile threatens his lips. 

“Would you like anything, Louis?” 

At the sound of his name Louis bristles, his pulse quickening at being spoken to. He’s used to being ignored, mostly. Invisible. 

“Oh, no - no, I’m okay, thanks.” 

Harry nods curtly and takes his can as it tumbles down to the tray at the bottom, the sound of it clipping open jarring him from his stupor. He shakes his head and smiles back at Harry, pushing around the rest of his own food in front of him. 

He waits five more minutes before he picks all of it up and throws it in the trash on top of Harry’s leftovers. Then he marches over to the machine and pulls out some loose change from his pocket, pressing the button for a coke. 

It spits it out the same way it had for Harry and he picks it up from the tray, popping the cap and bringing it to his lips. He sighs. 

It still tastes the same. 

+

Summer drags on and the house is hot to the touch, heat seeping in through his clothes and the soles of his feet through his socks when he steps on the creaky hardwood. Every movement feels like it takes the last bits of his energy. Even getting out of bed feels draining at this point, but he refuses to lay in his own sweat. With a sigh, he strips the bedsheets for the third time this week and tosses them into the washing machine for the next night. 

He showers quickly with cold water and dresses in his work clothes, heading downstairs to make himself some breakfast before he has to leave. The fan in the corner of the living room doesn’t give off much air but it’s the best he can get, so he settles in front of the vibrating blades turned to the highest setting while he eats. 

Briefly, he wonders what Harry’s doing now, just across the street from him. He’s probably fine in this heat, perpetually cool and unbothered by all of the things that drive Louis insane on a daily basis. The fan is blowing his hair back and his eyes dry but it doesn’t even begin to soothe the blistering, uncomfortable heat underneath his skin. 

Getting angry about it won’t do him any good. What will, however, is if he can befriend Harry before he leaves. Vampires are known for never staying in one place for too long and maybe, if Louis plays his cards correctly, he can convince this one to help him out before he goes. And by helping out, Louis means _turn_ him. 

It’s risky and definitely not common anymore these days, but Louis can’t get the idea out of his head. He can almost feel it in his veins when he’s around Harry, the simmering need to spill his heart out about everything he wants to see, to do, to experience. To get it off of his chest that he feels like he’s running out of time and he’s already wasted half of his life doing essentially nothing and how he’s absolutely desperate for another chance. 

And there’s no reason he deserves one, really. He’s had the same chances everyone else has had, but _God_ , he wants it. Sometimes on the rare nights that he actually dreams, Louis thinks it’s close enough to _taste_. The summer air he would breathe in on the coast, the sweet wine he would sample in Italy. The surface of the stones at the top of the grand canyon and the colors of the northern lights. 

It’s all right within his grasp and he’s closer than he’s ever been to an opportunity to start over, but vampires are also highly intelligent. Harry will most likely laugh in his face if he asks him without any sort of forewarning. 

The second stipulation to all of this befriending business is that Louis doesn’t have much to offer socially. He’s never been big on talking to people he doesn’t know and he isn’t sure he’d know what to bring up if he did. The weather, the neighborhood, all very neutral topics that don’t often breed deep friendships. 

Being aware of his own loneliness isn’t a feeling he much likes, he decides. He isn’t sure if it inspires him or depresses him further. 

He doesn’t get much time to linger on it because a body comes in the next day. As per the standard procedure, he meets Harry in the lab in the early morning and sets about preparing their work station with everything they’ll need. 

In the hours prior his brain had been running with ideas of things to say to him, ways to make himself seem friendly and approachable, but in the current moment he comes up blank. Standing off to the side to allow Harry the space he needs, Louis surveys the tools as a distraction and clears his throat. 

“How are you liking it here so far?” He asks Harry, blushing when his voice cracks near the end. 

Dark green eyes flit up to his with a half-smirk before they refocus on their task, his large palms and nimble fingers working quickly. 

“I like it alright. The town seems nice, the people have been very welcoming,” he says. 

Harry works with such precision that Louis has trouble tearing his eyes away from it, but he shakes his head and tries to anyway. It seems Louis’ going to have to be the one making all the conversation. 

“That’s good,” he offers, adjusting the front of his lab coat and staring down at his shoes. 

Louis gets caught up in watching him work for a long few moments, his brain drawing blank. His movements are precise and his hands don’t shake like Louis’ do when he prepares the room before they come in. Even the old coroner that’d been here for over twenty years hadn’t been as steady, and Louis finds it fascinating to note the differences between the two. 

By the time he snaps out of it and forces his eyes away from Harry’s hands he’s ready to try to speak again, but Harry beats him to it. 

He clears his throat and nods once in Louis’ direction. “Louis, could you grab my gloves out of my car for me? I think I left another box of them in my backseat. My keys are on my desk.” 

“Oh, uhm, sure,” Louis nods. Harry already has on a set of clear gloves but he makes no mention of it, headed out of the room obediently. “I’ll be right back.” 

With eerie precision Harry watches him go, unmoving until the door swings shut behind Louis on his way out. Crossing the hallway, Louis enters his office and swipes the keys from his desk, heading outside and unlocking Harry’s car. He spends several minutes searching for the box of new gloves all around the backseat before moving to the front, but he still comes up empty. After more than ten minutes he heads back inside to let him know. 

“I couldn’t find them in your car, did you-” Louis begins, then stops short when he makes it fully back into the room. 

Everything is cleaned up. Harry hadn’t even been finished with the process when he left less than fifteen minutes prior, and now the room is spotless. The body has been moved and the table cleaned and spotless, the tools back in their kits and stowed away neatly on the shelves. In the corner is Harry next to the sink, washing his hands, the brand new box of gloves open on the counter next to him. 

“Sorry about that,” he chuckles. “Found them in the closet.” 

Slowly, Louis nods, his brows slightly furrowed. The closet in here hasn’t been opened in years, the lock too tough to turn properly and nothing but a few extra pamphlets and advertising materials inside. A shiver runs down his spine and lingers in his fingertips where he’s still clutching Harry’s car keys but he ignores it, swallowing thickly and setting the keys on the counter. 

“I guess you’ve cleaned up already,” he gestures toward the table. 

“Yes, it’s all taken care of,” Harry smiles. “You’re free to go back to your office if you’d like.” 

Forcing his mouth shut, Louis jerks his head up and down and spins, pushing the doors back open. Since Harry already cleaned all of the tools he doesn’t have any reason to stay in there, and at this point he’s just anxious to get back to his own office and lock the door for a bit. 

There are many rumours about vampires like their speed, their cunning ability to glamour people into believing certain things, their reflections, but Louis doesn’t know what’s true and what’s myth. And before maybe he’d been eager to find out. 

Now he locks the door and falls into his desk chair harshly, breathing hard and wondering what the hell he’d just witnessed. 

+

Eventually the mystery fades, just like everything else. Louis grows anxious to go to work everyday simply to escape the high temperatures in his own house, and by default, anxious to see Harry. 

It’s a particularly slow month in terms of business which Louis supposes is a good thing, but it also means that he and Harry just sort of float around each other and stay in their own offices with the exception of lunch. It’s nowhere near enough time to form any sort of a friendship with him, so the excitement on that front has dimmed considerably. 

It takes another week and a half before they have another body. Just like last time they’re both too early to the lab but Louis only smiles and begins his setup, the sound of Harry washing his hands and sliding on his gloves echoing in the background. 

“You don’t have to do all of that,” Harry says, nodding toward the table as he pulls the latex over his palm. “I can set it up myself if you’d like.” 

“Oh, it’s alright. I don’t mind. It is my job, so,” Louis chuckles quietly. 

There is no other answer as he backs away from the table when he’s finished to let Harry take his spot, poised and patient as he surveys what he needs to do from the clipboard to his side. 

This time he doesn’t even try to talk to him. Instead, he surveys the room just so he has something to do with his eyes, glancing around while Harry works. Louis notes the familiarity of everything, this room having been practically a second home over the years but still feeling exceptionally lonely. 

The shelves are mostly empty but Louis remembers when they used to have supplies stacked on all of them, brand new equipment that’d been the highlight of their year when it came in. It makes him smile a bit, remembering the simplicity that he once found endearing about the small town. Now it feels suffocating. 

His eyes stray further to the far corner where the back closet rests undisturbed. He looks over it once and then does a double take. The door is open. 

Just slightly cracked, the light is off on the inside but Louis knows Harry is the one who unlocked it because he’s only one with a key and Louis certainly hasn’t gone near it. It’s probably just more supplies but the sight of it different after all this time is unsettling to him. Unconsciously he leans forward to peek inside but Harry’s voice distracts him. 

“Do you think you could grab the paper towels from the closet in my office? I bought some more to keep in here for when we run out.” 

Still the slightest bit confused at why Harry’s asking him these small favors, Louis tilts his head but agrees anyway, backing away and pushing the door open with his hip. Harry’s office door is propped open and he ventures inside and turns on the light, moving around the desk to get to the closet. 

When he grabs the handle it doesn’t budge. The closet is locked and Harry hadn’t given him a key, so when he doesn’t see one on top of his desk he heads back to the lab to ask him for the set. 

He’s headed back to the lab when he hears the slide of metal pans and rummaging from the inside, and Louis stills with his hand just about to push the door open. Instead of going right in he hesitates, peeking through the small slit in the crack of the doors to see what’s happening. 

When he squints he can see Harry where he left him, but he’s not just waiting on Louis to get back. He’s got a syringe set out beside him and several cleaning supplies. Carefully he picks up several of the alcohol wipes and smooths them gently over the neck of the body and Louis frowns. What could he possibly be disinfecting them for now? They’ve already been prepped for Harry’s part of the process. 

He folds the wipes and puts them in the bin, then returns to his position near the table. Harry lifts the syringe and checks that the tip is clean as well before he lowers it to the same spot he’d cleaned, slowly drawing a vile of fresh blood from the person. He extracts it quickly, seals the wound, and then empties the contents of the syringe into a small glass vile, setting it on a tray of identical others. 

Louis gasps openly, stumbling into the door frame and blowing his cover. The syringe drops from Harry’s hand to the metal table with a clang just as he’d pulled it out, neutral green meeting Louis’ frightened blue eyes. 

“Louis,” Harry says slowly, turning away from the table to face him. 

“You can’t - uhm, you can’t just,” Louis stutters, his arm awkward and pointing at him accusingly, floating in the stale air. 

Something shifts as Harry’s expression darkens once again, some kind of acceptance behind his eyes. This is going to change things, of that much Louis is certain. His eyes flick back and forth from the tray to Harry’s face. 

“I can’t what, Louis,” he asks monotonously, “say it.” 

“Uhm, you - uh,” he zones out for a few seconds while his brain scrambles to put all of the pieces together, to come up with something to actually accuse him of. A part of him knows this should be very wrong, but he can’t figure out _why_. 

Harry crosses his arms over his chest and waits for him to speak, but he grows impatient rather quickly. He steps closer, his head still cocked to one side like he finds any of this even slightly amusing. 

“Isn’t - isn’t this illegal?” Louis whispers, frantically and yet oddly calm as he holds Harry’s gaze. 

“No,” Harry tells him. “It isn’t illegal. I’m not in that business, Louis.” He steps around another table and moves to stand directly in front of Louis’ body, bracketing him between himself and the wall as he leans on it with his arms outstretched above Louis’ head. “I am, however, in the business of providing a necessary service to people like me. And I do it pretty damn well. It doesn’t concern you, so stay out of it.” 

“What is it?,” Louis asks anyway, before he can stop himself. His body feels lighter for some reason even as his breathing deepens and his palms begin to sweat, hanging limply by his sides. He feels suddenly like he’s a _part_ of something. 

Harry glances off to one side as his jaw tics, silence settling thickly between them. He shakes his head toward the ground, and then catches Louis’ eye directly. 

“Most of us don’t have any issue with ordering blood. It’s cheap, it’s relatively easy,” Harry narrows his eyes and runs his tongue over his front teeth, Louis’ weighted gaze tracing every careful move. “There are some of us, though, that can’t always afford the price. There are some of us that have illnesses that may only ever be cured by the blood of someone else that had it as well. There are certain things that you do not know, and that you may never understand.” 

He should say something more eloquent, but there are so many different thoughts racing through his head that he stumbles over his words, gulping nervously. Vampires can still contract illnesses? Does blood from someone who’s already deceased even, like, _taste_ good? Part of him still swears this is illegal. And, should that be the case, he should take it to the authorities immediately. Tell them before Harry’s able to take anymore, but -

“Like, drink - drink from _these_ people?” 

Drinking from a human is one thing - it’s not unheard of but it is uncommon, an outdated practice in the days of online orders and next day shipping even if the person _is_ deceased. 

The thing is - they’ve got to have blood to survive. Louis knows this. But drinking directly from someone is considered to be _intimate_ , and usually with someone who’s _alive_ , a thing that happens only between couples or the rare pairings between a vampire and their human mate. Louis absolutely should not know all of this, but his teenage curiosity had definitely paid off. Harry talks about it all so casually that it messes with his head. 

Admittedly, once or twice in his teens, Louis _may_ have gotten off on the idea. On the prospect of a partner that’s much larger than he is, much stronger, much faster. And, simultaneously more morbidly and romantically, the idea of quite literally trusting someone so much to leave his life in their hands. 

Still, he’s never once heard of them taking blood from someone who is already deceased, much less than it had the ability to cure illnesses or sustain an actual lifeline. Or, whatever a vampire’s state of living is called, he muses. 

“These people no longer need it, Louis. It can be used to save someone else now,” Harry explains with a sigh. “There are certain poisons and illnesses that even we may succumb to. This blood helps many, many people.” 

Louis should probably be focusing on the words coming out of his mouth but he can’t seem to think about only one thing, too caught up in the way each of his senses are lighting up and firing inside of his brain. 

Unbidden, his gaze drops to Harry’s fingers next to his head on the wall, and one that’d drifted to his waist a bit further down. They’re definitely hands he wouldn’t mind being held by, molded by, made to do whatever Harry pleases with. 

He’s heard stories about it too. It is rare but there’s always a corner of the internet for when he gets curious, forums and videos about how _wonderful_ it feels, about how it’s the greatest high someone could ever hope to experience. And, experiencing it with _Harry_? 

This is so, _so_ wrong. 

“Do you ever -” Louis swallows again, his mouth dry. “Do you ever drink from _live_ humans?” 

Drinking from him isn’t even what Louis wanted. It wasn’t a romantic thing when he thought about asking Harry to turn him, but now it’s definitely something a bit more like that. A _lot_ more like that. 

The moment he says it, he can see the shift in Harry’s eyes. It’s a completely different question now. This isn’t about the body or the other vampires who may need it. Louis’ asking about Harry’s preferences, right here with his head tilted up to look at him and his neck blatantly exposed. In a very subtle way, this is an _invitation_. 

The tone of the room shifts from quiet surprise to something much darker, Harry’s lips twitching as if he’s amused. Louis feels the temperature rise between them. He’s glad he’s stuck so closely between the wall and Harry’s body because his knees are much weaker now than they were when he first walked in here. 

If he’s very, _very_ careful, maybe he can work this in his favor - maybe he’ll get to experience being bitten and then also somehow seduce Harry into turning him at the same time. 

“Only the ones that ask for it,” Harry rasps, his lower lip dragging along the outside shell of Louis’ ear as he leans in to speak softly. “Would you have an issue with that?”

Gasping when the hint of one of his fangs drags behind it, Louis shudders and arches his back. “N- no,” he manages, his voice no higher than a whisper. 

It wouldn’t matter anyway, Harry would still hear him. He could hear him from all the way across the city if he wanted to. Every skipped heart beat, every sharp hitch in his breath, every moan. _Everything_. Right now, Louis’ sure he could probably even see his thoughts as well. 

“You’d let me, then?” Harry murmurs, a big hand coming up to frame the side of his face. Slowly it strokes his cheekbone before sliding downward, his neck in Harry’s hand. He can feel his pulse rattling underneath it, his face hot. Harry’s finger settles over the steady beat and presses down, just enough to make him gasp and rut upwards again, his face hopelessly flushed with color. “You’d let me put my mouth right here? Sink my teeth into you?” 

“Yeah,” Louis breathes hazily, his eyelashes fluttering. “Would.” 

“You have no idea what it would feel like,” his tone drops to almost a growl. “You wouldn’t be able to go without it afterward. Have to come back here - to _me_ \- to get it. I’d keep you craving it.” 

His lips are at Louis’ jawline now, hot kisses pressed into his skin. Louis doesn’t even realize that his head is turned completely to the side until he feels warm breath there, the small hairs standing on end as if sensing the danger to his pale, unmarked throat. 

“I would,” he says again. He knows he’s telling the truth even as he’s saying it, knows full well how insane it sounds. 

Suddenly his skin cools once more, Harry’s presence lifted off of it and standing a bit away from him now. Louis blinks lethargically at the space that’s been created, sagging against the wall of the lab. 

“Interesting.” 

Those same arms cross over Harry’s broad chest and when Louis finally feels aware enough to raise his gaze from them, Harry’s got a smirk on his lips. Louis can’t even bring himself to be offended at his obvious amusement. It feels like a very dangerous door has been opened, and he’s never been one to leave something unexplored. He knows, even as he gains his bearings and stands to head for the door in some kind of haze, that this is going to end badly. 

It still doesn’t stop him from driving straight home and stripping himself of his clothes, turning the shower handle to scorching hot, and coming into his palm with Harry’s name on his lips and a careful finger pressed to the side of his neck. 

+

It’s like a door has been opened. 

Louis’ about as bad at romance as he is at socializing in general, years since the last time he’d even kissed anyone. Each of his relationships had been even less than lackluster, devoid of the red hot passion he used to daydream about in his younger teenage years. He’s felt more just _looking_ at Harry than he has in the bedroom with people in the past. 

But he knows he hadn’t mistaken the tension during their last shift. He’d been running off of pure adrenaline and the way he’d gone a bit mindless should probably frighten him but it doesn’t. For some reason, he feels safe with Harry. 

And all of this is perfect really, because it puts him that much closer to his original goal. All it would take is one taste and Louis could probably convince him enough to properly turn him. 

He’s closer to a new beginning than he’s ever been and every step he takes has a bounce to it, running through the motions not quite so boring when he feels like there’s a purpose behind his actions. He takes his time dressing in the morning and doing his hair, putting in the effort to smell nice and seem more _alluring_ than he has been. It’s been so long since he’s felt this level of confidence in himself, but this morning before work he’d stood in front of his full length mirror for a good ten minutes just admiring himself before he left. 

So, overall, it would be _amazing_ \- if Harry would only cooperate. 

It would be incredibly easy to just blackmail Harry into doing it. He’s got proof, he’s worked here for years and he knows the authorities would believe him if he told them Harry was using blood unethically. But Louis’ above that, and also isn’t even sure if it _is_ unethical. He doesn’t think he’d be able to live with the guilt of getting him fired, no matter how much he wants to be bitten. 

He’s going to have to come up with something else, then. Some way to provoke him or corner him or something like that. He thinks on it all night and comes up with a lot that won’t work, but by morning he’s settled on a tentative idea. Something is better than nothing, he supposes. 

And so, The Plan is born. 

+

There hasn’t been a time in Louis’ life where he can ever remember doing something he knew was wrong on _purpose_. He’d broken rules as a kid, gotten into friendly mischief as a teen, but he’d never done anything he knew would actually affect someone’s life long-term. He doesn’t think he could live with himself, really. 

Which is why he hopes Harry catches on sooner than later, because he’s already more anxious than ever before. 

Louis’ alarm had gone off at six o’clock that morning, a full two hours before he was due to arrive at work. Which means only _one_ until Harry shows up. He’d dressed exceptionally quickly in vague, dark clothing and scanned his key card when he made it to the front entrance, parking just underneath the security camera and avoiding the ones in the hallways the best he could. 

He’d managed to sneak into Harry’s office after bribing the janitor for the key the night before, sighing gratefully when it’d still been dark and empty inside. Caught in an anxious panic, he’d rifled through all of the drawers and the shelves in the closet and came up empty. After placing everything back where it was, he locked everything back up, stuffed the key back into his pocket, and headed for the lab instead. 

His keycard beeped him in automatically, the old door refusing to put up any fight. Louis immediately made his way to the secluded back closet. For years it’d been empty save for a broom and some excess cleaning supplies, but when Louis uses Harry’s key to open it, it’s no longer bare. 

Thousands of shelves line the walls with the small vials of blood organized neatly, numbers and letters Louis didn’t recognize marked on the front. With a frown, he glanced over all of them - how was he supposed to steal _everything_? 

Surely he wouldn’t be able to take all of it. There’s no other place to hide it and Harry would be able to track it down anyway, not to mention that he’s losing precious time just standing here staring at it. 

Biting his lip, he reads some of the labels more closely. Each shelf has a date on it in front of the vials, and underneath the stack Louis finds shipping labels for each individual pack. His eyes brightening once again, he searches frantically for the one that’s supposed to go out tomorrow and lifts the shelf carefully from between its neighbors. 

He sets the tray down on a side table and hurriedly locks the closet door back. There are only about ten vials in this particular shipment but the glass clinks together as he exits into the hallway again, holding them as steady as he can. 

First and foremost he returns the key to the janitor’s station, and then goes into his own office to hide them. He doesn’t have a safe, but he does have a small closet that happens to be the only updated one in the building, all of the important files locked up tight. There’s a dead bolt on it and a code that only Louis knows, so it’s practically glued shut unless he decides to open it, which he’s only ever done twice before when they’d dealt with the police about a possible murder. 

Glancing down at the time on his watch, Louis balances the vials on his hip as he unlocks his door and kicks it shut behind him, hurrying over to the closet. He inputs his own birthday into the lock and pulls it open, clearing some space on the bottom shelf to hide the tray Harry will be looking for. 

He smirks. Harry may be able to track them down fairly easily, but there’s no way he’s getting through that door without Louis’ help. 

Still, that thought does little to soothe the nerves flitting around in his stomach. 

He doesn’t want to hide it too much because the goal here is to get Harry to catch on eventually, to come and demand he open it and get angry when Louis doesn’t do that for him immediately. 

As a personal disclaimer, Louis knows he shouldn’t tempt a vampire, and he especially should not _anger_ one. But he’s dying for the thrill of it all. It feels like he’s been frustratingly monotonous his entire life and now he’s finally gotten a taste of something _darker_. Something that actually makes his pulse quicken and his stomach drop like he’s about to go down the hill of a tall roller coaster. 

The panic sets back in when he hears tires on the gravel outside. _Shit_ , he thinks. He was supposed to have enough time to move his car and act like he’d just gotten in. There isn’t time to worry about that now though, so Louis locks the dead bolt back and steps away from it, headed to the restroom across the hall to wash his hands thoroughly and hopefully rid himself of some of the potent smell. 

When he exits, Harry is standing outside of his office with his arms crossed, his head tilted slightly with a smirk on his lips. Immediately Louis’ palms begin to sweat again. 

“Good morning, Harry,” he says, passing him to get into his own office. 

“Good morning, Louis,” he parrots, his tone much too high and lively to be considered normal. He follows Louis into the small room and Louis glances at him briefly, nonchalant as he sets about organizing some stray papers. 

Next to the door Harry leans up against the wall, crossing his ankles casually. 

“Can I help you?” Louis asks, avoiding his eyes. 

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” 

“I’ve got a busy day today,” he says to Harry. “Lots of paperwork to do.” 

To seem more believable (even though he knows Harry is already onto him) he rifles through a tall stack of them and pulls several out, glancing over the text before putting it back onto the bottom. 

“Yes, I’ve got a busy day as well,” Harry says. “Lots of important things that need to be taken care of. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” Louis denies easily, swallowing the excess saliva in his mouth. 

“No, of course not,” Harry repeats sarcastically, “Because those shipments are very important and if they’re even a day late there’s a good chance it will cost someone’s life. And you wouldn’t want that on your hands, right?” 

“N- no,” Louis says quietly. It’s pointless now to try to act like he doesn’t have them. Harry knew from the minute he pulled into his parking lot this morning and Louis’ nervousness has only confirmed it. 

Eyes burn into the side of his neck and Louis drops the papers he’d been holding, stepping around his desk to get to the door. He figures his best plan at this point is just to try and run away. 

Before he can get out, Harry shifts slightly and blocks the exit, swinging the door shut and locking it. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Harry smiles sweetly at him but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Louis shivers. “You’re going to open this door for me so I can get my shipment out of it, and then we’re going to pretend that you _didn’t_ steal an entire tray of life-saving plasma.” 

“And why would I do that? I didn’t steal anything,” Louis denies, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt, unaware that he’s subconsciously just confirmed that he did in fact steal something. 

“Really?” Harry muses. He pushes off the wall and steps forward. “Why is your heart beating so fast then? I can smell the sweat on your palms, the way your blood rushes to your cheeks, how fast your heart is beating.” 

“I - I’m hot. That’s all,” he tries again, moving his eyes to the ground as he clears his throat and pulls at the collar of his shirt on instinct. 

“Well, I’d say there’s only one other reason you could possibly be that worked up,” Harry shrugs, walking him backward until Louis’ tailbone bumps into the wall. He gasps, but it gets lost somewhere between them as Harry continues. “And what do you think that might be, hm?” 

Once again he finds himself stuck, nowhere to run from Harry’s thin, dark eyes. It feels like he’s seeing right through Louis and he’s _embarrassed_ , even more nervous than he’d been earlier. 

They’re both adults here and Louis doesn’t know why Harry won’t just give _in_ , especially not when he so obviously fantasizes about some of the same things. And Louis wouldn’t be so sure of that either except for the fact that he stares at Louis’ neck when he thinks he isn’t paying attention. He also touches Louis more than he needs to, brushing their gloved hands together when he’s working or putting a hand on his lower back in passing. 

So he keens when Harry noses at his jaw and turns sideways to give him more space to explore, his chest pushing forward subconsciously. Harry’s lips run across his skin but they never quite stop anywhere, always discovering new areas that have Louis’ legs threatening to give out all over again. 

A single nick of a sharp fang on his collarbone catches Louis’ attention. The rush of adrenaline that immediately floods his veins is unlike anything he’s ever felt, and his hands raise to the back of Harry’s head to keep him there. 

“Harry,” he whines, “Harry, _please_.” 

“You gonna be good for me?” Harry asks, leaving more barely-there kisses along his neck. When he speaks his hot breath cascades over Louis’ shoulder, goosebumps raising as he fights with his body not to roll forwards. 

“Yes - yeah,” Louis nods, his head thrown back against the wall. “Anything.” 

Harry pulls his upper lip away from his teeth for a moment, just enough for both of his fangs to glide across where Louis imagines he would bite him. He moans, his hips jutting forward onto Harry’s thigh. 

A large hand with cold rings settles just underneath his jaw to keep his head turned away. Louis’ lets himself be adjusted as Harry pleases, his head dead weight in his hands. With his thumb so close to eager lips, Louis sucks on the tip of it to keep himself from getting too overwhelmed. 

His entire body feels alight with pure arousal, excitement, something he hasn’t felt in years now. Something only _Harry’s_ been able to make him feel. Louis whines and pushes harder both onto his thigh and into his curious mouth. For a split second he presses down so hard that he nearly breaks skin, and Louis sees stars. 

“Tell me the code to the lock.” 

This time he whines for a completely different reason, sobering like ice water’s been poured over his head when Harry switches back into coroner-mode. When his lips are no longer near Louis’ neck, Louis turns lethargically to face him. 

“Two-four-twelve-nine-one,” he replies obediently as the fight seeps out of him, sagging against the wall as Harry steps away from him toward the closet. 

He watches hazily as Harry opens it and retrieves the tray, leaving the door open as he moves toward the exit. All of his work for nothing. Just before Harry leaves he stops with his head cocked sideways, running his eyes over Louis’ flushed cheeks and heaving chest. 

“Thanks, dove,” he says. “But you’re going to have to try a bit harder than that.” 

And then, just like Louis’ ability to form any sort of coherent thought or get angry at yet another catastrophic failure, he’s gone. 

+

It all comes to a head a few weeks later. They’ve been dancing around each other at the office and Louis’ going insane thinking that maybe he’s just imagined all of the tension surrounding them. 

It’s there when he comes into work each day, when he comes into the lab and Harry’s already standing there. It’s all around them when Harry leaves early to make it to the post office to send off his shipments and Louis’ the only one who knows what they really are. It’s everywhere and it won’t go away but Harry just doesn’t acknowledge it. 

Somewhere along the way it’d gotten a lot less teasing and playful and exciting and a lot more lonely. 

Outside of his house the rain beats down on the roof and shakes the shutters, loud thunder making him wince. Somehow the heat still permeates the space inside, humidity thick around his sinuses and giving him a headache. The entire day had fallen drastically short of fulfilling and when he’d left work he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep the world off. 

The receptionist had some trouble with the paperwork that Louis had to fix and it’d taken just short of four hours to complete. Then he’d lost some of his own records in the drawers of his own office and just about pulled out his own hair trying to find them. To top all of that off, Harry stayed in his office the entire day with the singular exception of getting a coke from the vending machine at lunch. 

Coming home to an empty house is just the cherry on top of it all. Louis isn’t sure if he’s lonely or if he just doesn’t like being lonely _here_ , in this big house and dead end town. He wonders if he’d be happier alone somewhere in Mexico or Australia, if the weather was nice or if he had a drink in his hand. 

At this point, he isn’t even sure anymore. 

Louis doesn’t get any sleep that night. He stays awake and sits against the wall in his study, staring at the broken dream board on the ground in front of him. The rain isn’t any of the soothing kind and it echoes loudly in between his ears where his thoughts have gone numb. He blinks slowly each time he sees lightning outside of his window. 

He isn’t sure why it hits him so hard right now but it does, and he stares out the dark window until it turns bright again. Yesterday, he hadn’t bothered changing out of his work clothes so he waits until the last second to get up to leave. 

Louis’ sure he’s a sight to behold, dark circles and second-day clothes, his hair mussed from pulling on it through the night. After so many hours of thinking about it he’s exhausted every idea, and he’s tired of beating around the bush. 

He’s wasted too many years now letting things pass him by, and he’ll be damned when one day he wakes up and Harry’s gone and he’s done it all over again. 

That morning he drives to the morgue feeling numb but also on the edge of exasperated tears, not bothering to park within the lines before he swings open the door and heads inside. He finds Harry in the breakroom at the coffee machine, his eyes already on the doorway when Louis walks in like he knew he was coming. 

“Why won’t you bite me?” 

Breath catching, Harry hesitates. For the first time since he came here it seems he’s caught Harry off guard. It doesn’t make him feel any better. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Why won’t you bite me,” Louis phrases it again. “You always get close and then you never do it.” 

Harry eyes him sideways and then clears his throat, picking up his cup from the machine and stirring it slowly. “I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t patronize me, Harry. I want to know why,” Louis says, holding his ground. “You said you drink from humans if they ask you for it. So is it just me then? Am I not - do you not want _me_?” 

He hates that his voice cracks but he doesn’t let his gaze waver from Harry’s face. Not until he gets an answer. This time he’s determined. 

“Louis-” he sighs. 

And - and _no_ , Harry doesn’t just get to take this away from him. It wasn’t his to begin with, to be fair, and he isn’t entitled to it in any way, but Louis will hate himself if he lets this opportunity slip through his fingers like all of the years he hadn’t meant to spend here. He’s got to push, got to at least try to make him understand. 

“Do you have any idea how much I need this?” He begins, his voice already giving out. “I‘ve lived here for so many years. I’ve done the same damn things over and over and over again and I’m _tired_ of it. This isn’t - I was never supposed to stay here. I had plans, Harry. I wanted to see the world and travel and _do_ something with my life instead of being stuck in a constant dead end.” 

When he stops to take in a shaky breath his hands are trembling, sweaty where he had them clenched into fists. Even this, even right now when he’s brimming with anger he at least feels _alive_. 

“And it’s too late now. I don’t have the money to retire or to travel. The train will only take me so far,” he laughs dully. “There isn’t anything left for me here. I - I feel like I’m _dying_ . And then you show up and you have everything I could ever want and nothing to lose and you won’t _just_ \- just,” Louis’ chin wobbles and he hits at Harry’s chest repeatedly, trying to get a reaction from him. He hadn’t even realized he’d gotten so close. 

Big hands come up to grab at Louis’ wrists and stop his movements, and the fight floods out of him. His shoulders sag and _he_ sags against Harry, the weight of everything he’d said finally free in his mind. 

Harry holds both of his wrists in one hand and tilts his chin up with the other, making sure that he’s listening before he speaks. 

“This isn’t something I can _just_ do, Louis,” he murmurs. “You’re asking me for a lot more than a few moments of excitement or a once-off. You’re asking me for a _lifetime_.” With a furrow in his brow Harry rubs his thumb on the back of his hand until his breathing calms. “You have to be absolutely certain.” 

Louis knows he’s right. He’s been teasing him and hoping he would just get angry and accidentally turn Louis but that can’t be just a split-second decision. But his head hurts from thinking about all of it and all he really wants to do now is go home, curl up in his bed, and cry. 

“There are other things we can do while you decide,” Harry suggests gently, his tone dropping several octaves. “Things that are still exciting but won’t change your entire life.” 

“Please,” Louis begs. “Just - something. Anything.” 

“Not here,” Harry says, stepping away from him. 

He slips his lab coat off and hangs it on the hook next to the door after he makes sure Louis’ steady on his feet, grabbing his personal things from behind his desk and slinging his bag over his shoulder. Locking the door to his office, he spins to face Louis again. 

“Get your things together and meet me at my house when you’re ready.” 

With that he heads off down the corridor, leaving Louis to do as he’s told. He’s still reeling from the touch but he shakes himself out of it as best he can, looking forward to whatever Harry’s got planned. It’s been so long since he’s had something to look forward to and it feels foreign, nervous butterflies flitting around in his stomach. 

Collecting the few things he needs to take home, Louis locks his own office and then locks the front door when he leaves as well, double checking it before heading to his car. He sighs behind the steering wheel, hands gripping it harder than necessary. 

He’s ready. He’s got no idea what to expect but Louis’ ready for it, for anything Harry’s willing to give him. Taking a deep breath, he pulls out onto the gravel road and heads home. 

+

Instead of going straight over, Louis tries to pace himself. He sets all of his things out on the table to put away and makes himself a tall glass of water first. Then he slips off his shoes next to the door and undresses for a shower. Louis washes himself thoroughly and sighs underneath the warm stream of water, his shoulders still tense but not as much as they’d been before. 

He feels admittedly better now that he’d told Harry how he feels, if not a little embarrassed. It felt like that had been sitting on his chest for years now with no one to confess to, but now it feels like an open wound on his chest, exposed for Harry to decipher and pick apart. 

Louis agrees that it isn’t a light decision. And for right now he hadn’t been lying - he’s more than happy to take anything Harry can offer, even if it isn’t anything permanent. But Louis knows himself fairly well by now. One day it isn’t going to be enough. 

So he’s floating in between head spaces as he steps out and towels off, optimistic and melancholic all at once. He dresses in soft clothing that he probably would have put on anyway, his red knitted pajama shorts and matching shirt all too tempting with the headache beginning to pulse in his temples from his frustrated tears. 

When he gets back downstairs he downs the rest of the glass of water and takes a hard look at himself in the mirror, licking over his lips and slipping his shoes back on before leaving. 

It’s cold outside when he walks across the street and he shivers. Luckily he only has to knock once before Harry’s calling out a deep _come in_ from somewhere inside the house. 

“Harry?” He calls, pushing open the large wooden door to the foyer. With no answer he ventures further into the home, following the light he can see on down one of the hallways. 

On his way he stops several times to admire the architecture and the decor. It feels very homely despite the clinical persona living inside of it, pictures hung up here and there and keepsakes laid out on tables. There are candles lit all around in the corners and several lamps illuminating the walkway, warmth radiating from the dark hardwood and cozy details. 

It’s more decorated than even Louis’ home is, and Harry’s only been here for two months. 

“Louis,” he greets, his head poking around the corner of the nearest wall. “Come on in.” 

Taking that as his cue to follow him, Louis takes one last glance at the photos and books and then rounds the same corner, a large dining room revealed to him on the other side. Up on the ceiling there’s a large hanging chandelier that casts warm yellow light over everything, a table set with two place mats and silverware. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” Harry yells from the attached kitchen. When he leans to one side Louis can see the white apron wrapped around his waist, his muscled back as he stirs whatever he’s making. 

His brows furrow - Harry’s making him dinner? Louis stands awkwardly behind one of the dining room chairs as Harry brings out several plates of food. There’s steak for both of them and a large bowl of pasta, set in the middle of the table as he goes back to turn off the stove and remove the apron. 

“Actually I’m not really that hungry-” Louis tries, nauseous already about whatever he’s here for tonight. 

“Louis,” Harry stops him with a knowing eye. “Eat. Please.” 

In only his button up shirt and some slacks, Harry looks much more relaxed here than at work. His sleeves have been rolled up to his elbows while he cooked and his hair is mussed from the long day and the stress, eyes tired but kind. 

Harry pulls out a chair across from him and sits down and Louis mirrors his movement, the two of them only taking up a small space at the end of the long table. 

“Wine?” He asks, reaching for the bottle that’d been set out. 

“Is it really wine?” Louis counters. 

Shooting Louis a smirk, he shakes his head. “ _Just_ wine.” 

“I’d love some,” Louis nods. 

Picking up Louis’ glass, Harry uncorks the bottle and tilts it until it pours dark maroon into the flask, topping it off around the middle. He hands it back to Louis purposefully, each of his fingertips touching Louis’ hand as he gives it to him before pouring his own. 

“So, I know you’ve been working at the morgue for a while now. Do you enjoy it?” Harry takes a long sip of his drink and watches Louis mull it overthink on it. 

“It’s okay,” Louis shrugs. He’s never been very good at talking about himself. “Uhm, how have you liked it so far?” 

“It’s been great. Much better than most of the other morgues I’ve worked at,” Harry explains, taking a large forkful of pasta into his mouth. 

“That’s good,” Louis offers. He feels awkward and unsure of how to make small talk with someone who is probably not as entertained by such mundane topics. Louis doesn’t blame him - if he’d lived the same life as Harry he wouldn’t spare a thought for talking about the weather or the state of the neighborhood. 

So it’s quiet for a few minutes as Louis twists long strings of pasta onto his fork and swallows it down nervously, sipping his wine to help himself stay calm. The dish is wonderful but he tires of it quickly with the nausea in the pit of his stomach, so he scoots the bowl away and picks up his knife to cut into the steak instead. 

“How’s the business?” Louis asks him, genuinely curious. 

“It’s wonderful, actually. I’ve gotten several thank-you letters just today in the mail,” Harry smiles. “I hope you aren’t too put off by it anymore.” 

“No, no. If it helps those people and the ones here don’t need it anymore,” Louis trails off, optimistic. 

For just a second Harry’s eyes sparkle, something soft inside of them as he watches Louis eat. The restlessness he’d felt earlier isn’t as strong anymore now that he’s here but he still feels the gaze, still blushes when he realizes Harry’s looking at him. 

“You said you wanted to travel,” Harry glances at him briefly. “Where would you go?” 

“Greece, Spain, the Netherlands,” Louis rattles off immediately. “I want to see New York too, and Colorado. And Arizona. Anywhere, really.” 

“Spain is beautiful,” Harry says, lifting his glass as if to drink to it. 

Louis lights up, leaning in closer to him across the table. “You’ve been?” 

“Many times,” Harry nods. “It’s gorgeous. The scenery, the culture. It’s wonderful. I lived there for a few years a while ago.” 

“I bet it was lovely. I would have painted all of the landscapes.” 

“You paint?” Harry asks. 

“Not even a little bit,” Louis laughs, swallowing some more food. “But I want to try it. I want to try everything. Even if I’m shit at it, it sounds fun. Settling into a small house there, trying all of the food, going to the markets, taking pictures. I could sample the wine and buy the ones I liked to go with the overpriced cheese dishes.” 

He smiles wide, but it fades relatively quickly. Louis wants all of those things so badly, always has, but when he says them out loud they just sound lonely. He stabs at the meat and pushes a piece he’d cut off around the plate with his fork, clearing his throat. 

Louis can feel his sympathetic eyes on the top of his head but he refuses to look up and meet them. He doesn’t need sympathy, not when Harry has the power to change all of it for him. 

“Why are you doing all of this?” Louis asks. “I mean, not that I don’t appreciate it,” he rushes. “This is delicious, really.” 

With a clipped sigh and a tap of his fingers on the wood, Harry fixes him with an abrupt gaze. “I cannot make my guest dinner?” 

“No, you can, I’m just not used to- _this_.” 

“That’s unfortunate,” Harry frowns. “You should take your time and enjoy it then.”

Still unsure, Louis continues. “Yeah, but-” 

“I would rather you not pass out when I’m finished drinking from you,” Harry says plainly. “So if you’d finish your steak that would be lovely.” 

“Oh,” Louis blinks. 

The skin under his pajama shirt goes hot and he swallows, taking another sip of the wine to cool him down. He’s sure Harry can hear the pickup in his heartbeat and see the way his hand shakes when he lifts his fork, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

At first he’d thought maybe Harry only invited him over to let him down easy. Now that he knows what’s going to happen, he has a difficult time not shifting around in his chair, all of his old fantasies rushing back to him in vivid color. 

“Louis,” Harry warns. When Louis glances back up at him his eyes have gone almost completely dark. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, resuming his cut of the steak and putting some more of it into his mouth. 

The rest of the meal is relatively quiet as Louis tries not to rush himself and choke on the food so they can get to the rest of the night, the tone having shifted from friendly to something much darker, much more intimate. 

Even when he’s finished he doesn’t get what he wants immediately. Harry makes him wait for it, taking their dishes to the sink and washing them off, topping off their wine glasses slowly before bringing them to the living room. 

He puts a hand on Louis’ lower back to lead him in the right direction and it feels like Louis’ body floods with warmth from the touch alone. He blinks slowly, feeling lethargic with how much he wants it, with the relief he somehow knows will come afterward even having never experienced it before. 

Setting their glasses on the coffee table, Harry flips on some lamps around them until it’s just enough that they can see each other well, inviting Louis to sit next to him on the sofa. He doesn’t touch Louis immediately or try to invade his space and Louis can’t decide if it’s chivalrous or overkill. The thrumming underneath his skin intensifies, Harry’s breath cascading over his sleeveless shoulder. 

“I know there are things that you want from me,” Harry begins, “things that I am willing to talk about with you. But not tonight, okay? Tonight I just want to give you a taste - or, have _you_ give _me_ a taste, if you will,” Harry rubs his thigh slowly. “Is that okay with you?” 

“Yes,” Louis answers quickly. 

Chuckling to himself, Harry smiles at him and reaches forward. He pulls Louis’ legs over his own lap, his red pajama shorts hiking up as Louis blushes the same color. At this angle they’re much closer than before. 

Hesitantly, Louis lifts a hand and rests it on Harry’s chest, Harry’s own hand coming to cover it until his grip turns sure. Louis stares at their hands far longer than he should, hazy but sure of what he wants. 

Before he can move anywhere else Harry lifts his hand and presses his lips to the back of it. He makes eye contact with Louis and then turns it and kisses the inside of his palm too, sliding his fingers up until they’re laced together on his cheek. Breath hitching, Louis tries to remind himself to breathe. 

The strap of his sleep shirt slips off of one shoulder but he doesn’t bother fixing it, reveling in the way that Harry’s eyes flash down to the skin there. It’s been so _long_. 

“Please,” Louis says, without even really knowing what he’s asking for. 

“Don’t worry, dove,” Harry murmurs, pressing warm kisses against his jaw. “I’ll give you what you need.” 

Louis’ head lolls to the side as Harry’s lips move down to his neck, behind his ear and over his pulse. The hand cradling his head presses down on it again like he had weeks before, feeling it fluttering underneath his fingertips. Louis whimpers and pushes into it. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispers, his tongue slick against Louis’ hot skin. 

“You - you are too,” Louis blushes. He shifts again and moans quietly, arching up into him. 

“Thank you, dove,” he smiles, placing one last kiss to his neck before drawing back again and taking his lips instead. 

He takes his time with Louis’ mouth, biting and sucking and exploring it, licking over his teeth and his tongue. The sweet wine from dinner is still all over their taste buds and Louis chases the flavor eagerly. 

Harry’s hand disappears from his cheek and reappears much lower, over the bulge of Louis’ prick in his shorts. Louis jerks up into it, shivering. Softly he presses down and watches as Louis grows desperate for it, soft pleas buried between their mouths. 

“You sure this is what you want?” Harry pulls away to look him in the eye, a thumb stroking his cheek. “I meant what I said before - you could actually get addicted.” 

Louis knows he’s serious but he’s already considered the pros and cons. He leans to reach his lips again, sucking on Harry’s top one before breaking apart with a whisper. 

“Would that be such a bad thing?” 

Harry growls and kisses him so hard that his lip bleeds, his fangs fully extended while his eyes go dark once again. Gasping, Louis grabs onto his shoulders as he’s thrown backward onto the sofa, on his back with Harry above him. 

“M’gonna drink my fill of you,” he says, “and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Louis nods frantically, pushing his chest forward. “Yours.” 

His arms are gripped tightly and moved above his head, held there in only one of Harry’s hands. With the other he runs a finger around Louis’ mouth, over his lips and his tongue. 

“That’s right, little dove,” he hums. “ _Mine_.” 

After cleaning the cut on Louis’ lip with his own tongue, Harry relocates to the area between his neck and shoulder. Louis shifts restlessly, rutting his hips upward for some friction. Instead of finally giving him what he wants, Harry shifts to his shoulder, sliding the strap of his shirt down further and further until it reveals his chest. 

He kisses the hollow area between Louis’ collarbones, the ridge between his pecs. Then he pulls back slightly and hot breath ghosts over his nipples, already pebbled from the material of his nightshirt. 

“I felt drawn here, you know,” Harry hums distractedly, his tongue laving over one of Louis’ nipples where the shirt’s fallen down. 

“What - what do you mean?” Louis gasps when he bites down lightly on the sensitive bud. 

“I’d been meaning to move for weeks. Nothing ever stood out to me enough to actually do it. Not until this job,” Harry explains, pinching the other one between his fingertips with the biting sting of his fingernail. “I knew I had to come here. Could feel it in my veins.” 

He abandons his chest and lifts Louis’ wrist, placing a dangerous kiss to the tender veins there. His blood rushes quickly just beneath the surface as if begging for Harry to taste it. His dark green eyes surface into Louis’ narrowed realm of vision once again. 

“You think you’re nothing special, Louis,” Harry cups his face, “but you’re so, so wrong.” 

It’s messy when Louis overcomes his shock, when he surges upward to seal his lips to Harry’s again. It’s spit and slick and he’s pretty sure his lip gets cut again but he doesn’t care. If Harry isn’t careful, Louis’ going to start believing that all of this really was some kind of twisted fate he’d stumbled into. 

With a smack and a thumb rubbing over Louis’ bruised mouth, Harry addresses him seriously, those brighter green specks reappearing in his eyes for a moment. 

“I know you want to start over. I know how you feel because I felt the same way before I was turned. But, just for tonight, let me show you how wonderful it is to have this heartbeat,” he says, his hand over Louis’ chest. “To feel every little thing - every touch, every breath. _Everything_.” 

As if to prove his point he grinds down between Louis’ spread legs, the outline of his hard cock all too satisfying against Louis’ own prick tucked away in his trousers. It’s a full body reaction as he shivers, a dry sob escaping his lips as he chases Harry’s hips and bares his neck more obviously. 

“If you still want the same thing later we’ll discuss it. But tonight let me just - just,” Harry trails off in his neck, soft lips and sharp fangs tracing over his skin in the perfect contrast. 

He settles on a spot relatively quickly, nestled privately toward the front of his throat where it meets his shoulder and collarbone. A finger swipes the hair away, lips press down. A tongue warms the area thoroughly and Louis feels the nick of fangs against his pulse. 

For a moment it feels like he’s floating. He’s on the edge of something good, he can _feel_ it, and he isn’t worried about making a mistake. The fact that it isn’t forever doesn’t bother him the way it did earlier, not when Harry’s got him like this. There are hands all over him, rubbing, comforting, soothing. There are strong hips in between his own, exciting Louis’ entire body with even the slightest movement. There’s breath and life and heat and _Harry_ and then - 

The second that he breaks skin Louis loses any coherent thought. He keens loudly, he can hear it echo in his ears, and he thinks he reaches a hand up to hold the back of Harry’s neck. It’s - he can feel his blood rushing to the spot where Harry’d bittten, the smooth palette of his tongue welcoming it onto his taste buds. 

It’s a thousand times better than anything he’s ever felt. He understands why Harry wanted to show him now, why he pointed out how sensitive he is to it. Louis’ senses are heightened and muted all at once, his entire being reduced down to where Harry’s lips are attached to his neck. 

Tears leak out of the corner of his eyes as his hips push restlessly up into Harry’s. It doesn’t take much when Harry lifts a leg up onto his hip, moaning quietly into the juncture of his shoulder as he continues to drink. 

Eyes rolling backward, Louis shakes as everything becomes too much. His prick that’s been leaking and hard since Harry brought him in here aches in his shorts, where they’re grinding against each other. 

His hand tangles up in Harry’s hair and he pulls with no real intent other than to spur him on, unworried and feeling safe, trapped inside of his arms and completely at his mercy. Everything is in screaming color and rich sound, Harry’s grunts as he gets himself off on the taste, his grip on Louis’ body and everywhere they’re touching. It’s searing hot but cool to the touch and when Harry slaps the outside of his thigh like he can’t even help himself, Louis comes. 

With his cheek smushed into the sofa pillow he cranes his neck as much as he can and whites out with the pleasure, his legs kicking out and his breath leaving him. Even for moments afterward he’s shaking, coherent only enough to run his fingers over Harry’s back as he comes as well, withdrawing his fangs with a faint click. 

His thoughts are blurry just like his vision when Harry pulls back to check on him. He can’t speak, not yet anyway, and his limbs feel heavier than he remembers. Vaguely he thinks he feels himself grinning but he can’t be sure. 

A straw appears at his lips, cool liquid coaxed onto his tongue and down his throat. Obediently he drinks until it disappears, his fuzziness focusing into a more defined perception. He blinks up at Harry slowly. 

“Good, dove,” he hears. 

There’s a cool rag on the side of his neck, a loose bandage placed over where it stings. He clings to Harry when he moves, eyes closed and body featherlight, sighing when he’s placed on soft sheets. 

Harsh light covers his face before it dims again, a blanket covering his body and a silk pillowcase placed underneath his head. He’s floating all over again, his only tether Harry’s arm wrapped tightly around his waist, his constant presence as he molds himself to Louis’ body from behind. 

“Sleep, dove,” Harry murmurs, lips pressed against the back of Louis’ neck. 

Seeing the world can wait until later, he decides. For now, this is enough. Louis succumbs to sleep with the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. 

+

_A few years later_

They leave on a Tuesday. There’s no special meaning behind it, really. It’s about time for Harry to move again and Louis doesn’t have anything tying him down. He figures he’s long past due for a new beginning. 

Packing his things up had been bittersweet if only for the reason that he realized he’d never truly unpacked in the first place, rotting boxes still shoved in the back of his closet. Louis throws them out and takes only the things closest and most sentimental to him, packing them in the backseat of Harry’s car. 

On his final walk through he just barely manages to notice the dream board on the floor of the study. He smiles, dusts it off, and puts that in with his luggage as well. He grabs his coat as well, since he’ll definitely need it where they’re going. He’s learned to find comfort in the cold. 

“Ready, dove?” Harry asks, leaning up against the hood of the car waiting for him. He looks almost ethereal in the fading light of the sun, the thick haze of dusk upon them and highlighting his silhouette. 

“Ready,” Louis nods. 

He leans forward to kiss him one last time before they leave town, his fingertips tingling with the excitement that flows through his veins. Pushing away from him and sliding into the passenger seat, Louis buckles his seat belt and glances over just as Harry does up his own. 

“No going back from here,” Harry murmurs, half jokingly and half serious as he eyes Louis’ face. 

Reaching across the console, Louis takes his hand and nods. Harry’d taught him to love his humanity in a way that Louis thought wouldn’t be possible again. But, just like the house, it’s time for a change. 

“I’m ready,” he says again. “No turning back.” 

The engine revs as Harry turns the key and the car sputters to life. Just as they turn out onto the old dirt road Louis turns and smiles at Harry over his shoulder, his small white fangs glinting in the evening sun. 

+

**Author's Note:**

> if you like this fic you can reblog it [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/626818651975237632/%F0%9D%90%8B%F0%9D%90%8E%F0%9D%90%95%F0%9D%90%84-%F0%9D%90%81%F0%9D%90%88%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%92-%F0%9D%90%92%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%91%F0%9D%90%88%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%92-vol-i-ii-%F0%9D%90%82%F0%9D%90%80%F0%9D%90%8B%F0%9D%90%8B-%F0%9D%90%98%F0%9D%90%8E%F0%9D%90%94-%F0%9D%90%8C%F0%9D%90%88%F0%9D%90%8D%F0%9D%90%84-by)
> 
> or retweet it [here](https://twitter.com/falsegoodnight/status/1295812947579506688?s=20)
> 
> ALSO -- our lovely friend nessa (@behisoneandonly on Tumblr and @hazelslwt on twitter) has created a graphic for us for the series! you can find it [here](https://lourrydearest.tumblr.com/post/626909651325321216/behisoneandonly-love-bites-series-vol-i) be sure to give it some love! 
> 
> thank you for reading! :)


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